Silent Canary
by mad-for-madrid
Summary: "Like a canary in one of your coal mines." "What's that?" Finnick asks me. "It's a bird that we take down into the mines to warn us if there's bad air," I say. "So what's it do, die?"...The day of the explosion that took Katniss's father


First attempt, so I hope it's well recieved, but feel free to *ahem* review :D

I do not own the Hunger Games.

It's a boring job, Kannan Jestring knows: carrying a bird through mines as men and women around him hack at the cold, black earth. Lots of walking on his bones that even he admits are getting old, and having to hone in on the one little twitter of a bird in the entire echoing racket that the mine seems to produce every second of every day.

But Kannan knows (at some basic level) his job is one of the most important, listening to the damned songbird for half the day.

A great deal of Kannan is grateful that his duties only extend to babysitting the canary. Means less backbreaking work harvesting the Capitol's fuel.

Some nodded hellos greet him this one chilly morning as his shift files into the elevator. Most are still half asleep, rubbing dreams away from their tired eyes.

Kannan's bird tweets musically in his cage, flitting around happily—even as the metal cage around the miners gave a bone-jarring shudder as it creeks its descent.

When Kannan was eighteen, riding this lift to actually mine in the Seam, he panicked at the sudden detachment as the morning sky was shut away, replaced by miles and miles of dirt and coal. But, as the years passed, a sad sort of acceptance crept over him. His eyes now adjust quickly to the electric lamps, and his lungs almost welcome the stale air that means heat and food for his ever growing family, as it is pumped through the vents.

Almost.

A final hiss of steam and an all too familiar sight for citizens of District 12 greets the miners at the entrance of the Seam. _And the smell, _Kannan thinks dejectedly as they file off the lift, dragging their feet. The smell is what makes Kannan wish he'd never been born in the coal district. Musty, stale, and the choking sensation as the sheer weight of coal dust settles into an unseen pit in his chest. It's suffocating.

The canary, Ditter as the miners have come to affectionately call him, accompanies Kannan's footfalls as he starts to make his way through the branches of the Seam that will be worked today.

There are six, and the deafening clang of metal on rock as over three hundred miners attack the ground is so great, Kannan's ears start ringing almost immediately, Ditter's song nearly lost although he holds the bird's cage not an arm's length away.

As they pass the third branch a slight thump shakes clots of dirt and stone from the Seam's ceiling, the smell of dynamite laces through the air.

They make their way to the sixth branch, were they'll be posted today, Kannan vigorously blinking at coal dust that slipped through his goggles.

Men swear around him as they shovel mounds of fresh coal into wheeled carts that will eventually make their way to the surface.

This branch of the Seam has fewer miners, and the cavern is quiet enough for Ditter's new song to be heard clearly over the noise of work. A miner taught this one to Ditter, a happy and light melody that certainly doesn't belong half a mile underground, its sound encased by the black, scarred earth.

A tall man straightens as Kannan walks by, "Aye, Kan!"

It's not in Kannan's job description to stop for a chat, but Mort Hawthorne has an easy look about him, and is always pleasant.

"Been alright, Hawthorne?" Kannan says.

Mort shakes his head. "Vick's got that damned cold again."

Kannan nods sympathetically, shifting Ditter into his other hand. Mort tries not to let his worry show, but even through the mask of coal streaks and sweat, Kannan can see another father's worry.

"I'm sure he'll fight it off, and if not, Blackly's wife is a wonder at herbs and healing." He nods over to the miner who taught Ditter many of his songs, presently whistling a captivating tune that is heard over the constant drone of pickaxes, shovels, and the muffled _boom_ of explosions.

Mort nods almost in time with Blackly's tune. "I'll remember that," he says, already bending down to lift his shovel.

Only, Kannan's forgotten something.

In his unremembered hand, Ditter's cage has gone silent, his music overshadowed by his teacher's.

Inside the iron cage, the cheerfully yellow bird lies at the bottom, his head resting at an awkward position, his scaly feet curled in on themselves.

Ditter is dead. And that means they will be too.

Sparks are slow to catch on, but only a few seconds pass before Kannan's mind is ablaze with panic, understanding.

His movements now are too fast as he fumbles for his belt, unclipping something he hasn't ever had to use.

The small device is about the size of Kannan's index finger. He does not hesitate before yelling loudly and smashing it against the ground. It splits cleanly in two.

The sound that erupts puts the regular roar of the mine to shame. It is as if a huge, bodiless voice erupts from the walls and ground itself, an angry god. The sound bounces off the walls, reverberating into Kannan's skull. He bites his lip, making note of another thing he absolutely _despises _about the mine: the sound.

It lasts roughly four seconds, and the silence that ensues is only momentary, even Blackly not making a sound as they register what has happened.

As if a flip is switched, three hundred shovels and picks are thrown to the ground, people running and shouting, long strings of profanity echoing through the caverns until it's a mindless garble of sounds and panic.

Miners from all branches hurry to the lifts, chased by devilish creatures on their heels.

But the miners in the sixth branch are slow, their feet heavy and tripping over nothing.

Kannan totters toward the nearest lift, still so far away. Ditter's cage is kicked away, the useless warning sign dropped an forgotten along the way.

In the mess of bodies that are still fighting towards the lifts, new yells from deep within the third branch are heard, making Kannan turn his head.

The panic in the eyes around him is nothing compared to the ten or so miners sprinting away from the branch as if it were hell itself.

Explosives were in branch three...

Slowly, Kannan understands what the others, who are too rushed, don't.

Dynamite is still rigged to explode in the third branch, and with the toxin in the air making more and more people sluggish, Kannan can only assume its gas.

The push and pull of bodies is violent, but Kannan and a few others, who have seemingly accepted their fates, stand perfectly still.

Kannan bows his head. And he's glad that Blackly has resumed his song, slow and a little melancholy. It's almost like a comforting hand on his back, a last goodbye he couldn't give his family. It's laughable to think that, seconds before the explosion, thanks to Blackly and his song, it was almost peaceful.

The thump could be felt by everyone in District 12's feet. Every wife, merchant, and even the children, working on their history and numbers, looked up questioningly to their teachers as the vibration tickled their toes.

Miner's children were sent home early that day, forced to walk past the ruins of the Seam, see the bodies barely covered by sheets, and guess who was going home to be surprised by the fact they didn't have a parent anymore.

Among the rubble, almost pristine, was a single yellow feather.


End file.
